Have you ever been into a pawn shop? I went into one for the first time ever today and it was quite possibly one of the most depressing experiences ever. Those barred windows and glass cases held a museum of unwanted items, sacrifices, and promises of return that went unfulfilled. Maybe it's just a pawn shop. But then, why did I start crying?
I guess to tell that story I have to tell this story: my room is a constant mess. The rest of my house maintains a steady level of presentable at all times (I frequently throw last minute parties or have unexpected yet always welcomed guests, so I like to be ready) but my room is pretty much always in chaotic disarray. And you know what, I fucking like it that way.
Not being one to fight entropy (it's a thermodynamic property which for my purposes just means that the universe constantly moves toward decay and disorder) I don't see the point of keeping things neat and tidy when I know I'm just going to mess it up anyway. When my room becomes impossible to navigate I spend a few hours immersed in organizing all my crap, and even though I feel accomplished when it's done, I know I'll have to do the same thing in three weeks. See, that's entropy. You may now consider yourself a physics expert.
My fiancé has been instrumental (read: annoying) when it comes to helping me keep my room clean. He showed me how to put shoes under the bed and put dirty clothes in a laundry basket, he bought me a bookshelf and I have even learned how to hang clothes up immediately after they come out of the dryer. There are days when I even make my bed. It's pretty crazy.
So today I spent some time organizing, knowing he'd be so proud of me, and then it happened. I found a bunch of jewelry from past boyfriends tucked away in a drawer. Some of it I had forgotten about. Some pieces I missed wearing. But with an engagement ring on my finger now, I felt a flash of guilt for still having jewelry from past lovers. Those romantic relationships had ended. It's worth mentioning that I still have very strong friendships with most of my ex-boyfriends. One is even in my wedding party. But here was a concrete reminder of the one year anniversary when I got the diamond earrings, or the birthday when I got a necklace. Or the time I got a promise ring. What did we promise? And who broke that promise?
I dumped all my jewelry onto the floor and picked out everything I no longer wanted, stuff I never wanted to pop up and surprise me again. It wasn't all ex-boyfriend jewelry. Some of it was from friends I no longer had or spouses of parents that had come and gone. Everything of value, the gold, the diamonds, the pearl earrings, all went into my purse. I pushed it out of my mind and continued cleaning, got frustrated and went out for lunch.
I'd passed the pawn shop a billion times without ever even considering going inside, but today was different. Today I was hellbent on getting this jewelry the fuck out of my sight. I felt dirty just carrying it in my purse. So I went inside. And it was terrible. All around me lay the corpses of someone's once prized possessions. There was an unwanted TV that was pawned for what? A new one? Money for rent? Money for drugs? And there were a few guitars that hadn't been strummed for longer than ten seconds at a time since they'd arrived here. A chainsaw stood propped up in a corner, its handle layered in dust. And then I saw the jewelry case; it held strands of pearls and gold chains, rings that glittered with all kinds of precious stones, stones that used to be precious to someone. Was that someone's engagement ring? Did that crucifix once belong to someone's grandmother? Why did someone sell that pair of earrings? Were they stolen? Who did this used to belong to, and why was it given up? My mind raced and my heartbeat quickened as I realized I was standing in a mausoleum of memories cleverly disguised as a pawn shop.
I couldn't do it. Literally five feet into the store, I completely freaked when I saw everything. I had no idea if it was spite or necessity that had caused people to pawn their stuff, but I didn't want any part of it. In the beginning I just wanted to get rid of jewelry, but I now realized that I had almost screwed up big time and sold memories. I have no intention of wearing that diamond ring or those pearl earrings again, but I don't want to let anyone else have them either. They were purchased for me, with love, and I will keep them, with love.
I told Fiancé the whole story, nearly in tears, and he just laughed. It wasn't malicious, just a giggle he couldn't hold in anymore. He smiled, nodded, kissed my forehead and said, "the jewelry may not mean anything to you, but the people still do. You should keep it for as long as you want." I really do fucking love that man.
The jewelry is safe again. And I will probably never wear it again. And I'm damn sure never going in a pawn shop again. And if I find that jewelry in 2054 (the next predicted year I waste time cleaning my room) I won't freak out again.
It's about entropy, I think. Chaos has a way of sneaking up and unraveling what I've done. Things fall apart, I get it. I just kept some of the pieces.
No comments:
Post a Comment